


Five Times Remus Went Stargazing

by leafchron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Anthropomorphism - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergent, Celestial Bodies, Comfort/Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marauders' Era, Pining, Stargazing, band au, post-OotP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafchron/pseuds/leafchron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five different universes, five different lifetimes, of stargazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marauders' Era

When he was much younger his mum took him star-gazing, in the city and in the countryside.

In the city the lights were too bright and they couldn’t see anything.

In the countryside, it was much better, lit up with stars, but still he couldn’t identify the individual constellations and stars, even when his mum traced over each of them in the air with her finger, gently guiding him and pointing them out to him. He could never see whatever he was supposed to see in the sky.

He nodded along anyway.

He preferred her stories, of ancient Greek gods, imperious and cruel and beautiful, the shenanigans they got up to in their spare time, and the guileless mortals who fell under their spells and charms, helpless. No escape. He closed his eyes and let her warm, soft voice fill his head with adventures and tragedies.

 

In school, he continued the habit up in the astronomy tower, alone, staring at the stars, whenever things were too much to bear. He was still unable to make out the pictures that were supposed to be depicted by the constellations, but he heard her voice anyway, feeling the stories drift lazily through his mind.

One night, the brightest star in the sky was there.

He was amazed to discover that he could actually identify one astral object in the skies.

After that, he was always accompanied by the star when he went star-gazing.

He never felt alone again after that, knowing he could tilt his head up and see something he recognised, something familiar.

It left funny feelings in him, made him feel slow and fuzzy, and sent his heart into mild palpitations at the same time.

Once he saw it, he could not unsee the star. It was quite easy to spot actually, starkly bright against the dark night sky, catching his attention every time he looked into the darkness. It seemed strange he could’ve gone on for so long without noticing it, and certainly he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was sure it was just his imagination, or his mind’s eye playing tricks on him, but it seemed to glow brighter every time, until all the other stars were dwarfed. It was undefeatable against the night sky threatening to swallow everything up, infinite darkness spreading and consuming all except that star. Some nights he spent wholly just gazing at the brightest star, enthralled, mesmerised, disregarding all other stars, for they all paled in comparison to its splendour, and he just couldn’t tear his eyes away, no matter what.

So he didn’t.

One night, while he was star-gazing as usual, long, black hair fell into his face, gentle, nervous hands took his face and he was kissed, fear, desperation, desire thrumming under skin, kissed with inevitability, kissed as though he would run away, kissed wildly, frantically, messily, kissed until all the other stars fell out of the dark skies of his mind, and all that remained was a star that outshone even the sun, that banished the darkness, that blinded and burnt every sight from his retina.

 _Supernova_ , he thought, _this is going supernova._


	2. Canon-compliant

He woke up in the middle of the night in the city, and realised he couldn’t see any stars in the night sky due to the light pollution. Even though the ground was a burst riot of lights and colours, the night sky was untouched by any of the flashy lights from the ground and remained dark, threateningly dark, as though it was absorbing every single source of light, gobbling everything up, until all that remained was unremitting, unrelenting blackness. A blank, monotonous solid abyss that stretched on infinitely and held nothing in its unchanging blankness, the sheer _nothingness_ of it.

There was no star-gazing to be had amid bright city lights.

Nothing happened in night skies like these and nothing ever would.

He would never ever see the stars again, staying as he did right where he was.

Every night he peered up at the night sky, hoping for something different, for something to change, and the blank darkness never failed to disappoint him.

He could see the rest of his life stretched out: empty, a despairing hollow, like the gloomy, obliterating void of a night sky in the city.

Someday, when the darkness had consumed him completely, chewed him right up and spat his bones out, he would find the stars again, a particular star, on the other side of the darkness, having traversed right through to the other side ahead of him, waiting for him, happy to see him.

Wagging its tail frantically even, paws scrabbling at the ground, head tilted eagerly, ears crooked, pink tongue lolling out a little, nose sniffing the air eagerly for a scent of him.


	3. Canon-divergent

He pumped the burst of speed in his footsteps, hand reaching out desperately, straining all the way to the extent of his reach, ignoring all the spells flying overhear, ignoring the screaming, and maybe someone yelling his name, he didn’t care, not even an Avada Kedavra could’ve stopped him at that point in time, he had to make it, he had to, had to –

\- and closed fingers around grubby, bloodied robes, clamped his fingers down on the fabric, yanked backwards with all his strength, hard, frantic, violent, until the weight fell backwards towards him, sending both of them crashing heavily to the ground.

He land badly on his back and hit his head hard against the ground, and the weight landed painfully on him, knocking all the wind out of him, elbows and knees in his face and his gut, but right now he couldn’t feel any pain. If he was five minutes later, his brain unhelpfully supplied, if he was just five minutes later, a terrible, out of control train of throught rushing along, screeching, deafening, mowing down everything else mercilessly in its path, unrelentless. Only the claw of his fist, frozen around the dirty robes; he would never unclench his fingers, ever, never again, he would never let go again.

***

A few nights later it was the full moon and thanks to the wolfsbane potion his mind was still there, fully, enough for him to slip of the house when it was late enough, sticking to the shadows and heading for the nearest woods, just to check that the stars were all there.

He paced the woods, antsy, howled desperately at the moon, and for once he couldn’t quite blame the wolf for that. For good measure he howled at the stars as well. Repeatedly. Angrily. In anguish. Once the swell of emotions was unleashed it overrode him, he couldn’t keep the emotions back any longer and he realised he didn’t want to. He ran, and ran, and ran, until exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed in the middle of the woods, not caring where he was, straining his head to glare balefully at the stars.

After he didn’t know how long he noticed another canine presence padding carefully and quietly up to him.

 _Pack_ , the wolf told him almost immediately, lazily, with a quick sniff.

 _Lovefearwantlustlossnoyesohgodsplease_ , his human brain supplied.

The dog came up to him, unusually cautious for once, and tried to nuzzle at him. He growled a warning, deep in his throat and roughly batted its snout away, a distant part of his mind noting that he couldn’t blame it on the wolf in the morning, and he didn’t care.

The dog was undeterred, however, and kept at it until he gave up in favour of pointedly ignoring the dog. At that, the dog flopped onto the grass and rolled over onto its back, presenting its belly, ears flat and back, tongue lolling, waiting. The wolf was appeased. He was less so, but the wolf had moved on.

The dog rolled back and moved to curl up tight around him, settling down with a wriggle and making itself comfortable. He resumed staring at the stars, not caring what the dog thought. The dog silently watched him watch the stars, an unusually perceptive edge in his limpid puppy dog gaze.

Stars, he thought, that he had to keep an eye on, to make sure they were still where they were supposed to be, hanging lazily in the night sky, that they didn’t get into trouble, or disappear from his sight all of a sudden, how close they had almost blinked out of his sight, burnt out of his existence for good, and that was unacceptable, simply.

If he kept his gaze on the star, it would be safe, right where it was supposed to be.


	4. Non-magical Modern Day AU

A different city almost every night, or every two, or three nights. Making their way across the country, slowly, leaving a trail of enthralled fans in their wake.

He followed them from day one of the tour, covering their footsteps.

He never missed a show.

He was always right in front, with the best tickets, the best spot.

Every night they played he would be there bright and he would be early. To wait, to anticipate.

The lead singer was decent, the drummer wasn’t too bad, the songs were catchy, the performances were good in general, but he was there mainly for the guitarist.

The guitarist who had a penchant for those skinny black jeans that seemed painted on, that he wanted to shake his head at in despair, that were such a terrible, overwrought cliché.

That didn’t stop him from wanting to peel them off though, excruciatingly slowly, and lick every inch of skin unveiled.

He had multiple versions of every single, every album; had burnt into his memory every line of lyric, could sing every single tune note perfect in his sleep.

So when the shows started he could sing along to everything automatically, unthinkingly, as natural as breathing now, which left him free to ogle the guitarist freely and unabashedly.

Some nights the guitarist left his long, black, slightly wavy, hair flowing and wild, flying in his face as he moved around.

Other nights half of his hair was gathered up loosely in a bun.

He never saw the appeal of men with their hairs in buns, thought it was just a little ridiculous. Until the guitarist did his hair in that style. Then it instantly became top-grade wank material.

He imagined running his fingers through those locks.

In-between screamed-sing-alongs of the songs during the show, the thick throngs of teenage girls would be trying to squeeze him out of his spot, crowding around him and frequently threatening to run him over, screaming the band’s name, names of individual members, _marry mes_ and _I love yous_ and the very rare _I wanna fuck you_ as well.

He couldn’t begrudge them because he was just like them, really. There was no higher ground to climb onto.

He tuned them out most of the time and just focused on the guitarist. The way he played, with his eyes closed, fingers flying over strings - poetry, or art, or just pure _music_. The music was a drug drilling down to his very core, entwining around his soul, leaving him shaken, wanting more, never getting enough.

After the encore, when the lights were up and he was trailing out of the venue with all the teenage girls, he was so high, he couldn’t come down, and it felt as though he never would, as he made his way back to his hotel room, his world a dizzy array of colours exploding, the endless ringing in his ears.

 

 

Lying on his hotel bed, much later, the door flung open, a figure strode in and threw himself dramatically onto his bed.

“I’m exhausted. Was it a good show?”

“You know it was. As usual.”

“You could stay backstage, you know. Don’t have to be caught in the crowd.”

“No, it’s fine, I like being in the thick of action, being part of the crowd. It’s more electrifying.”

There’s a snort. “I’m amazed. Aren’t you bored yet; you’ve been to every show without fail so far.”

He considered the question. “No. I’m not entirely sure at this point, but I suspect I might not be, not for a long time still.”

The replying laugh is warm and low and lovely, amused, but secretly pleased.

Fingers pressed against his hips. He tasted lip gloss, arousal, adrenaline, sugar of something fizzy. He wound his own fingers into dark hair. Finally fulfilling his fantasy, which had left him semi-hard for half the concert, exhilaratingly.

Then he unpeeled the skinny black jeans excruciatingly slowly, ignoring the protests of the man wearing them to _Just hurry up!_ ; it’s fitting punishment for him for even wearing them in the first place, and licked and nibbled his way down every inch of skin unveiled, reveling in the moans he drew.

It was just like he imagined.


	5. Alternate Universe - Space

The moon loves nights, the velvety darkness, because as night falls the stars comes alive, and they become fully visible to the moon, and they are no longer invisible, hiding in the light.

There are many stars in the vast sky, stars of rare, distinct glows and radiation, high relative velocities, amazing huge and amazingly tiny masses, and unusual chemical compositions. There are constellations, there are clusters of stars that make up amazing visages. There are stars that blink in and out, there are stars that shine steadily.

The moon’s favourite, however, is the brightest star in the darkness.

It is a beautiful star, it is a lovely star. It is a star that burns the fiercest, a temperamental, mercurial star. It is fiery. Puny humans on the planet Earth recognised its significance and offered sacrifices to it and celebrated it, bowed in awe of it. Its rising heralded flooding and solstices. It brought about intense heat, summers, dog-days.

The moon thinks it may be a little star-struck, as well.

It is easy to be.

The star is breath-taking. It shines too brightly. It is overly dramatic. It evokes such passionate, irrevocable emotions.

The moon loves the star.

 _Look at me,_ the moon thinks, _look at me and notice me and burn because of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is done! Thanks for reading!


End file.
